White-Gold Concordat
by OstrichOfLegend
Summary: The Dragonborn has blindly chased his destiny, with almost no memory past Helgen. The appearance of Thalmor dragging along a prisoner changes that. It unearths his blissful childhood, the day it is shattered, and his vow for revenge. The prisoner, an unassuming Breton girl, wants the same. DISCONTINUED- If anyone wants to continue it, let me know. My muse died on me.
1. Resurfaced

**My first story! Will be multiple chapters. Revolves around my Dragonborn OC and someone he stumbles upon in his travels who I won't say much of till next chapter. **

Sometime in 4E 202

_It was moments like this that Darius, or as nearly the whole of the land knew him as, the Dovahkiin, relished. It was a rare opportunity in his gallivanting across Skyrim on seemingly endless adventures that he could forget his trials and enjoy the simplicity of sitting on a rock by a warm fire and gazing at the heavens. Perhaps the gods were watching him. Surely Talos would closely follow the actions of his successor, whether he would approve or not was a different matter entirely. He set down his helmet in the thin layer of snow at his side as his legs dangled over the edge of the outcropping of rock on the edge of the nameless mountain. As he ran a gauntleted hand through his jet-black hair, he pulled out his Amulet of Talos from the inside of his Dragonscale armor and held it up to the moonlight and crackling fire, tracing its intricate carvings. It was the only thing on him when he woke up in the cart on the path to the doomed town of Helgen. It is also connected to one of his only memories of his past life. It had been given to him when he was a small child by his mother._

_Right? Or was it his father? Or…his sister? Did he even have a sister? Just like every other time he tried to remember his past, before waking up on the jerking, thudding cart en route to his presumed death, it would only get foggier and foggier the longer he thought about it. So he tried not to, for fear his few precious snippets of memory would fade completely. He'd thought his memory would improve over time, but, roughly a year after he laid his head on the executioner's block and witnessed the power of the Dov for the first time, he still had to guess his own age. He figured he'd seen about twenty-four winters or so. It just felt right in his head._

_Was it the Divines who cursed him so? The Daedra? Had they simply plucked them out of whatever life he'd been living and deposited him in the middle of the Imperial ambush in the Jerall Mountains? Had he really been living with the dragon blood in his veins without ever feeling its influence on his thoughts and actions? He dismissed all of these thoughts. Jumbled thoughts like these just made his head hurt. He was no dumb brute, but no scholarly philosopher either. He was the Dragonborn, and a good one at that. His mother had been a Nord, his father an Imperial, and he had inherited both their features. Fitting that Talos' successor was a blend of both the ascended god's Atmoran heritage and his creation, the Empire. He was the one of legend, tasked with saving this land from the World-Eater and changing the course of history, not just in saving Nirn but making his mark on it. As he settled in to his bedroll, without bothering removing the rest of his armor, a light sleep immediately taking hold, he steadied himself for another day. Another day chasing his destiny. Another day wondering what his fate truly was._

**52 hours later**

Skyrim in summer, though it was hard to call it that as the temperature was still roughly the same, was genuinely beautiful. The lush green plains dotted with patches of wildflowers, the rolling hills and mountains, the soft blanket of pure white snow that covered northern Skyrim perpetually. Darius loved the northernmost province in all its frigid glory. Many of its inhabitants, however, were a different story. On this road alone he had come across a group of bandits, a pack of wolves, and a dragon. He therefore now had in his possession a fat coin purse, an ice wolf pelt, and a soul, in that order.

He was trudging along a dirt road in a mountain pass. From his tattered, creased map he guessed he was in one of the mountain ranges in the Reach. The map was awfully vague and hardly passed as a "map" at all, but he hadn't thought to buy one of better quality in his last stop in Whiterun. He'd actually done little more than dump the septims, trinkets, and a dragon bone or two in Breezehome. His dragon blood didn't allow him to sit still for long. He curses whatever god is watching and tosses the pathetic paper away. It wasn't any significant help, just some situational comfort. And that's another thing. His blood could also make him rash and arrogant, or in some instances, murderous. Sure, that part was reserved for his enemies or people who pissed him off, like the time he'd punched Nazeem in his stuck-up, condescending face in the middle of the marketplace. He'd only had to declare his Thaneship and status as Dovahkiin to get the guards off his back, but he still tried to avoid doing things like that. It was "bad for his image" in Lydia's words. He regretted having hardly greeted his loyal housecarl in his brief return to the city that had welcomed him with open arms out of the fires of Helgen.

It was nearing midnight. He'd need to find a good place to sleep for the night. He was scanning the cliffside for any nice depressions in the rock that he could climb to and lay his bedroll when he turned a corner in the path and heard voices. He instinctually crouches low and hugs the rock face, peeking around the corner. "…and who cares anyway, Taryna?" Says an elf, clearly male. "This heretic pig will be executed at Northwatch as soon as we get there. If you care so much for her, you drag her pathetic carcass." A reply comes. "Put a plug in it, Varlen. I was merely suggesting that we at least give her an 'honorable' death. I believe these primitive Nords value that above all else. But never mind that. Perhaps her 'god' will save her. Wait! Oh no! Surely he shall smite us! We ought to flee!" A female elf cries mockingly. A certain "heretic pig," in their words was quite compelled to slaughter these elves without a thought. They were in his view now. Thalmor. Three of them, dragging a limp form behind them, presumably the other Talos worshiper. Thalmor. Thalmor. Talos. Talos worship. Thalmor…

Death.

Sorrow.

Helplessness.

The memory hit him like a brick wall, seemingly triggering others. His past flashed before his eyes. Going rabbit hunting with his father, and being taught to wield his father's simple hunting bow. His mother's soft caress on his cheek following a rather bad allergic reaction to a bee sting. Their little farmhouse in the countryside of Skyrim. His mother's garden full of beautiful flowers, the fox he'd saved from a wolf and befriended. It was like a fairytale. So that was his childhood. Or…was it?

**Twelve years ago**

"_Daddy…who's breaking down our door? D-Daddy?"_

"_Run, son. Run. Do not come back. Never come back."_

_The boy's father grabs his trusty iron sword off its rack._

_It had killed the odd bandit or wolf without fail many times._

_These were neither bandits nor wolves._

"_Nora. You need to leave, now."_

"_I won't leave you, Aran. I will die with you if I must."_

"_You always had that sense of honor, love."_

_It was then that the people in golden armor crashed into the one-room cottage._

"_You have violated the White-Gold Concordat. Come forward and your death shall be quick. Otherwise…"_

"_Never, you elven bastards. You can't prosecute us for worshipping mighty Talos. You can't force your beliefs on others! Next time, the Empire will be ready. And it will get its revenge."_

"_Your petty Empire is dead, Nord. And now…so are you."_

_Two elves attacked. One is cut down. Two more take his place._

_His father is run through._

_Without any hesitation, they slaughter his mother as well._

_The next thing the boy knows his bare feet are upon the snow. _

_He runs._

_And runs._

_Till he can run no more._

_Then he sits. _

_And cries._

_Till he can cry no more._

_He vows to have his revenge._

_Someday._

_Then he stands._

_And begins to wander._

_He will wander until he finds purpose._

_When he finds purpose he will find destiny._


	2. Justice

**Chapter 2 is up. Whoop-dee-do! Somebody give me some encouragement!**

***Cue crickets***

**Well, I'll post it anyway!**

Darius

Anger seethes through him like fire, consuming all else. He remembers. Oh, yes. He remembers. All he sees is the elf in robes impaling his father and cutting his mother's throat. He would avenge his parents. He vowed that day and that vow still holds. He would bring them down.

The first one never sees the dragonbone arrow before it hits cleanly through his neck. He crumples to the ground, breathing his last. The other three draw their sword. "We have ourselves a hero, then? Let me show you what happens to 'heroes.'" Snorts the elf in Justiciar robes. Darius straps his bow on his quiver and draws his sword. Dragonbone meets golden metal, and plunges through the heart of the second soldier.

With a dying scream the soldier is shoved to the side, barely alive. The Shout rings out. Both remaining Thalmor are thrown by a wall of force in to the rocky cliffside. Darius hears the load, resonating crack as the last soldier's spine is severed by the impact. The Justiciar unsteadily stands. "What are you…? Who are you…?" He sputters. "You could say I am Talos, I suppose. For I carry his blood, elf. I am destined to destroy the World-Eater and change the face of this land. But this is none of your concern." The elf cannot reply before he looks down and sees that the Dragonborn's sword is impaled in his chest down to the hilt. It is roughly yanked out and the last image in the Thalmor's life is the Dragonborn's armor glinting in the moonlight.

Colette

At first she is confused in her half-conscious state. They had used a spell on her…Paralysis? Her limbs were like stone, stiff and heavy. She couldn't lift even her head. But she saw the newly appeared arrow sprouting from one of her captors' throats, and her brain formulated a thought. A happy, giddy, relieving thought, one previously hopeless. Someone was going to save her. That _was_ a nice thought...

The man in strange armor tears through the Thalmor who had chased her for so long. He is outnumbered four to one yet kills two immediately, effortlessly. Then he…he _shouted_. Three words. _Words _that sent the Thalmor still alive sailing through the air. There was someone who could do that. But her head hurt where they had hit her, and she chose not to think too much. The next thing she knows, as she may have blacked out momentarily, is the last of her captors is dead and her savior is standing over her. He's talking to her but she's too far gone to formulate his words, much less speak some of her own.

She is lifted off the ground by strong arms, gently, like a mother cradles her baby. She welcomes this, and falls asleep.

**Yesh!**

**Finished!**

**Review!**

**Now!**


	3. Fire

**Chapter 3!**

**Colette's POV**

She had been hunted by the Thalmor for five years. Somehow she had avoided capture for that long. She'd kept moving, never stayed in one place long enough to be noticed, picked out in a crowd. She'd been fourteen. Fourteen the day the Thalmor decided to burn her home, destroy all she had, and kill those she loved. Her brothers. Her father.

Her father.

In a way it was his fault that it happened. That her life was destroyed. But he couldn't blame him. He had been a good, honorable man and a loving father. Her father was an anti-Concordat activist, you could say. He spoke out against the Thalmor at rallies every day, against the unfair terms of the treaty, especially the worship of the god he and nearly everyone in the Empire revered, Talos. He did not fear the Thalmor.

Until the day he did.

Her father was a very wealthy man, a noble in the court, and she had grown up without hardship. Everything she wanted or needed was there for her. She had grown up with servants and nannies and cooks and a housecarl. She had always cared deeply about those with less than her, and on many occasions convinced her father to raise their wages. Many had gotten out of the fire. Many did not. She grew up in a beautiful mansion by a river in High Rock. She frequently wandered in the vast flower fields near her house, wrestling in the daisies with her brothers.

That was all gone very soon.

She woke that night to the smell of smoke and the sound of crackling flames and screams of terror. Her favorite maid, Carla, had burst in to her room at that moment and pulled her through the hallways of the manor by the arm. Carla was a woman of around 60, with a kind, warm smile perpetually on her face. But not tonight. Her fear was evident. But she stayed strong for Colette. To protect her. "You must go, dear. Do not let them find you. And take this." Carla reached in the her shirt pocket and gave Colette a necklace. It was the Amulet of Talos that she still carried with her, safely tucked away. The Thalmor's footsteps had echoed through the halls. They were close. They'd be upon them soon. Against Colette's wishes, Carla, a mother figure to her, ran down a different hallway after shoving her down another. Carla purposely made as loud and obnoxious noises as she possibly could to get the elves to follow her. Colette never saw her again. She still held hope that Carla had somehow made it out of the house before it had partially collapsed.

Her father, dead.

Her brothers, dead.

Carla, likely dead.

But Carla had told her to run.

So Colette ran.

And ran.

Till she could run no more.

Then she cried.

And cried.

Till she could cry no more.

Then she began to wander and hide.

She would wander and hide till she found purpose.

When she found purpose she would find vengeance.


	4. Moonlight

**Chapter Four!**

**I'm on a roll here!**

**Darius' POV**

He watched the sleeping girl as he stoked the fire he had started with a simple whisper of a fire breath Shout. The Greybeards would be rather disappointed to know that the Thu'um had sunk to such a pedestrian use, namely Paarthurnax. He chuckles inwardly. He wonders what the old, gray dragon would say.

He still had the Elder Scroll on his back. He had recovered it the Dwemer ruin a week or so before. He was actually supposed to be on his way to the Throat of the World, but he had been sidetracked by reports of a conspiracy in Markarth. He'd decided to help clear it up, and the whole ordeal with the Forsworn had been strange to say the least. That was the sole reason he was in the damned Reach. The terrain was ridiculous, and the Forsworn didn't make it any better. His latest distraction was the little Breton he'd rescued from the Thalmor. He couldn't just leave her there after all. But she would be only a burden to him and he planned to drop her off in Whiterun with some coin.

She looked barely out of her teens, with brown hair to down her shoulders, and, well, she _was_ rather pretty. But her soft skin and hands told the tale that she was one who had never seen hardship. Other than, of course, the last few days in the hands of the Thalmor, he presumed. She stirs so he averts his gaze to the stars. No feelings on the battlefield, his father had once said whilst teaching him basic sword techniques when he was a boy.

**Colette's POV**

Colette awakes to a dull throbbing in her head. Her thoughts were clearer now but she's sure the Thalmor gave her a concussion considering their blows to her head with their swords' hilts. She tries to sit up but fails miserably. A wave of pain shoots through her torso. "Don't strain yourself. When I found you, you were bleeding out of your nose and mouth and had awful bruises all over your body. You likely had internal bleeding in your intestines due to being bashed in the gut so many times, which is why you're having trouble sitting up. You're a tough one, Breton, not many can take that much punishment." She manages to prop herself up on her elbows and lean against the rock behind her in a sitting position. She notices she'd been in a comfortable bedroll by the fire her rescuaer sat by. "Thanks," She croaks. "For saving me back there." He shakes his head. "Don't thank me. Not yet," He replies. "My destiny still needs fulfilling." He gestures with his thumb to the thing on his back. "Y-You're…the Dragonborn.," She sputters, dumbfounded. "Yes. I am," He says, tapping his armor. His armor, made from the scales of dragons. Talos' undergarments. She'd met the Dragonborn. And he'd gone out of his way to save her. But the way he'd killed those Thalmor; it was as if he hated them in a much deeper way than simply because they drag away innocents and murder them for worshiping their god. As if he had a grudge, a vengeance, something more personal than justice.

She realizes she'd been staring at him the whole time she'd been thinking. She's looking right into his eyes, gleaming, deep blue orbs that seem to see in to her soul. So alert, calculating, intimidating. The dragon in him is evident. She sees sorrow in those eyes, though. Sorrow that she thinks she can relate to. "What's your name, girl?" He asks her. "C-Colette_" _He flinches at the shakiness in her voice, even if it is a slight flinch. "Call me Darius," He says carefully, with a small, gentle smile. "I think we have a lot more in common than I thought." There is uncomfortable silence for a moment. "There's a stream down the hill that way if you'd like to bathe." More silence. "Dammit, girl, what do you think I am? A dragon-slaying hero who is also a pedophile? You're completely coated in filth, woman! I thought women valued hygiene!" He says rather playfully. She gives him a small smile. The Dragonborn was seeming more and more likable. "Who says I don't want you to watch?" She says in a humorously seductive voice, jokingly imitating the average Skyrim bar wench, following his example of lightening the mood. They both laugh, forgetting their own weights on their shoulders for a bit. "I'm starting to like you, Colette." He removes a bottle of precious spiced wine from his pack that they proceed to share. "To our futures," He says. "Agreed." Colette murmurs.


	5. Ambushed

**Be sure to review.**

**Thank you to my early supporters!**

**There shall be a (short) chapter every day or so, this I decree.**

**Sort of a filler chapter. Looks like Paarthurnax's chapter will be delayed a few days.**

**Colette's POV**

She much regretted drinking most of the spiced wine. The hangover combined with her recent injuries, namely to her head, made it nearly impossible to bear the pounding in her skull. Still, he shook her awake before daylight, and she had managed to drag herself up and follow him. She lagged a good distance behind him, but he didn't slow down.

For hours they walked through the wilderness. It had begun to rain a while back and by now the skies were dark gray and the rain was pouring, soaking her simple clothes easily. She heard rustling behind her and instinctively reached for her dagger. Only it wasn't there. The Thalmor had confiscated it when they captured her. _Just a nervous habit._ She dismisses the noise and drags sluggishly on. The rain was in her eyes. Her hair clung to her skin. She was shivering from the cold. Then she realized that she had lost track of the Dragonborn. She'd slowed down to the point that he'd gotten too far ahead of her.

Oh gods. "Wait!" She cries, mustering her remaining energy from the long day of travel and breaking in to a run. "Wait up! Come back!" The muddy ground makes squelching noises beneath her feet as she runs. She skids to a stop, nearly slipping in her leather boots. It's useless. She's too far away. He'd never hear her over the rain. She scans her surroundings. The rain makes it impossible to see for more than twenty feet any distance. Then a hand clamps over her mouth from behind. She tries to scream but can't. Her small hands move up to try to pry the hand away but are too weak. She is shoved to the ground. She rolls on to her back. Bandits. Three of them. And she was defenseless.

One makes a grab for her again. She instinctively kicks and gets a good hit on his nose, hearing a crunch as the cartilage breaks. He grunts and stumbles backwards. Clutching his face, he snarls, "You're gonna pay for that, sweetheart." They draw their weapons. "Hand over anything of value you have and we won't kill you." They snicker. "Just beat some sense into you, have some…_other_ fun with you, and leave you to die in the mud." More snickers. "Well, what's it gonna be?" He smiles, blood on his teeth from her boot to his face.

"I-I…don't have any thing. I-I'm sorry! Please! Just let me go!" The head bandit's response is to sock her in the face. Hard. She tastes blood and throws up her arms to try to shield herself from the flurry of blows to come. All three bandits pummel her, punching and kicking until every spot of her body hurt. They stand over her after the beating. She is curled up in the mud in protective fetal position, clutching her stomach and trembling from the pain. "Now…" Says the leader. "How 'bout you reconsider your statement?"

Barely clinging to conciousness, Colette hears a familiar voice from behind the bandits. "Actually, boys, how about _you_ reconsider?" Darius is a good foot taller than the bandits, and the armor is nice touch, what with the horns and spikes and all. The bandits slowly turn. She sees the leader pale at the sight of the Dovahkiin. "Well?" He insists.

All three bandits take off running.

"I'm sorry. I should have waited for you. I—"

The rest of his words are drowned out by the rain and the fact that she is barely conscious.

**Darius' POV**

He saw the beaten girl's eyes turn glassy while he spoke. The moment he'd seen her, standing over the dead Thalmor, he'd felt the overwhelming need to protect her. To protect this innocent girl. How could he have let this happen? He never should have let her out of his sight.

He smiles a bit. It looked like he'd be carrying her again.

He scoops her up and follows the river, hopefully to Riverwood.

He thinks he hears her sign contentedly in her sleep.


	6. Alduin's Bane

**Review please, whether it sucks or is mediocre, which is the best it will be.**

**No idea how to continue this story, so suggestions to story and new OC's are not only welcomed but pined for.**

**Review.**

Darius' POV

Orgnar hadn't seemed surprised when he'd barged in carrying the girl that was quickly becoming a nuisance. He'd simply accepted the gold and pointed to the room. Whatever attachment Darius had to the Breton was crushed by the urgency of other matters. He had to learn Dragonrend. He had to see Paarthurnax. He would let nothing get in the way.

He rose from his seat and marched over to the bar, plopping a coin purse in front of Orgnar with a jingle of Septims. "Take care of the girl, Orgnar, and when you deem her fit to travel, give her directions to Whiterun. Tell her to speak with Adrianne at the forge. She's a friend, and has been looking for an apprentice. She can stay with her and her husband." With that the Dragonborn exited the building and briskly moved towards Alvor's little smithy.

"If it isn't Hadvar's friend! Heard you're apparently the Dragonborn! Ha! Nephew picks good company, eh?" Greets the blacksmith cheerfully. Darius merely grunts; he needed to be on his way. "I need some leather armor and a decent sword made for the Breton staying in the inn." Darius says bluntly, tossing his second coin purse, not caring of the amount. "Ah, to the point lad. I like it! I'll give it to her within three days. Travel well, boy. It's a dangerous time to be out wandering Skyrim." Darius leaves Riverwood to the sound of loud hammering.

**Four days later, the Throat of the World**

As he always is, Paarthurnax is there on the crumbling wall to greet him.

"_Drem yo lok_, Dovahkiin. I see your journey has been successful. Go now. Read the _kel,_ the Elder Scroll, at the Time Wound. Alduin approaches. He cannot ignore the signs."

Darius stands in the magical current of the Time Wound, snow beneath his boots, and opens the Scroll. Time bends before him, and from the same spot, he sees the world in the time of the Dragon War.

_Three Nord heroes stand among the corpses of their fellow warriors as well as multiple dead Dovah. _

_Gormlaith Golden-Hilt._

_Hakon One-Eye._

_Felldir the Old._

_He watches them Shout, and send the World-Eater to the ground in a crumpled heap. _

_The Words are known to him instantly._

_Joor Zah Frul_

_Mortal Finite Bind_

_He is grounded, his black wings torn. "What vile Words have you created?" He sputters, genuinely surprised by the Nords' strength and mastery of the Thu'um. _

_They hack away at the great dragon, fighting valiantly._

_Gormlaith falls to Alduin's might, tossed aside from his bloody jaws._

"_Use the scroll, Felldir!"_

"…_You are banished…"_

Paarthunax snaps Darius back to reality with his booming voice.

"Alduin approaches, Dovahkiin! Use the Dragonrend Shout, if you know it!" Paarthurnax cries as he takes to the air with a great roar of battle, exhaling a plume of fire.

And he is back. The Nordic God of Destruction, the first of the Dovah to be laid eyes on, the one who had saved Darius from a beheading completely unwittingly. Hovering above the peak, glowing red eyes looking over the one destined to bring him down.

"Ah, Paarthurnax! Always one for righteousness, yes? Pathetic! You are weak, to betray your nature, your destiny to dominate, and betray me! My teeth to your neck! I shall finally get my revenge for your human "tongues" casting me out! I will give you on chance to return to the winning side! Otherwise, 'dear brother', you will die this day!" The World-Eater snarls.

"Never again, brother," Paarthurnax says calmly.

"So be it."

The dragons meet in fierce combat, trading shouts in mid-air and leaving long gashes and shattered scales with their claws. Alduin is slowly gaining the upper hand. Paarthurnax knows this. "Now, Dragonborn! Use Dragonrend! Attack when he is grounded!"

"It'll hit you as well, you old fool!" Darius yells over the wind and the two dragons' fury.

"It matters not! You must defeat my brother, at any cost!"

Alduin cackles. "Selflessness will be your doom, brother! I will tear the flesh from your bones, I will-"

He is cut off abruptly.

"_Joor Zah Frul!"_

Both dragons crash to the ground in a heap, regaining their balance on four limbs and wrestling and snapping at each other's vulnerable spots. Both are covered in a blue aura, their wings crumpled and their strength failing from the effects of the shout. Paarthurnax is fighting a losing battle. Soon Alduin is on top of Paarthurnax, tearing at the weak, chipped scales of the old dragon's throat. Before Darius can get there, Paarthurnax is limp and still, immortal blood seeping from his wounds. _No..._

The Dragonborn charges at Alduin, drawing his dragonbone sword. "You wear the armor of my brethren, but you shall never walk among us! Die now, in vain!" Alduin lunges, but blow after blow to his face knocks him back. Darius grabs on to one of the spikes on Alduin's head and pulls himself on to the dragon's neck, stabbing downward, driven by fury at the fate of Paarthurnax. The blade merely sinks a few inches into the thick godly hide. Alduin merely growls and tosses him off, mustering his strength and soaring up into the air again. This was ridiculous. He would not be merely _outlasted_ by his opponent; he would defeat him! Stumbling to his feet, Darius channels all of his hatred in to another Shout.

"_Joor Zah Frul!"_

Alduin is thrown back into the snow, tossing up large clumps of it. He manages to rise, unsteadily, and slumps over, his jagged back arching. He coughs and croaks, "You have grown strong, _Dovahkiin_. But I cannot be defeated here, nor anywhere else on this world. This will not be last we meet." He beats his wings weakly and is gone to the skies. Alduin's escape is the least of the Dragonborn's concerns. _Paarthurnax…_

He hurries to where the wise old dragon lay prone on his belly. Paarthunax lifts his neck and props himself up with his wings. _He's alive. _Paarthurnax smiles warmly, if a dragon can do that, like a grandfather to his favorite grandson. "Do not worry about me. I will live, _Dovahkiin._ However you must know where Alduin has gone. Perhaps one of his lieutenants can tell you. Dragonsreach- you could call him there, lure him into a trap. It was built to imprison a Dovah after all." Darius shakes his head, shifting his feet. "I'm glad you'll be alright, but I can't exactly do that. Though I could trap the dragon, Balgruuf may not jump to the idea of having a dragon in his palace."

"Then, convince him, _Dovahkiin_**. Surely he will listen to you. He will have to; the fate of the world is at stake."**

With that, Paarthurnax hobbles over to his word wall and curls up beneath his usual perch, looking like Meeko when he naps by the fire in Breezehome. He speaks no more; a sense of finality hangs in the air.

_Looks like to Whiterun, then, _thinks Darius_._

He wonders whether Colette will be at the forge or not yet.

_You're getting soft..._

**Not my best, but it's practice at least.**

**Review, whether it is the standard of mediocre or just plain awful.**


	7. Breeze

**Anyway, I once more ask for any ideas for the story, past, present, or future, especially new characters, preferably OC's!**

**On with it then! Review! Flame! Or give me ideas! Or all of those!**

**Colette's POV**

Dipping the awful excuse for a sword in the bucket of water beside the forge to cool it before continuing to work, Colette sighs heavily. She'd taken the Dragonborn's offer of a job and travelled to Whiterun to become apprenticed to Adrianne. The Imperial was kind enough, and paid Colette a considerable hourly wage for work that was acceptable at best. She'd taken the liberty of crafting herself a simple longbow. It was completely devoid of any detail whatsoever; though not the beautiful craftsmanship she'd seen made by Avenicci, it was adequate and it would be good to have extra protection after her second rescue at the hands of the Dragonborn. That was a rather crushing blow to her pride; the fact that he'd had to once again venture off his path of killing bad guys and whatever he does and safe her pathetic hide once more was quite embarrassing. She'd decided that she'd repay him someday, somehow. Or at least apologize a second time. She'd awakened in Riverwood and he'd been long gone.

She'd been cared for by the kind innkeeper until she was able to function without wincing at her bruised sides. After that she'd stayed a bit longer, milling about the town, exchanging gossip with the villagers all day and drinking like a Nord every night. On the third day or so the kindly blacksmith, Alvor, had entered her room and deposited an exquisite set of leather armor, in all its shining, polished glory. It even came with a sword, expertly crafted, simple and strong, as he had said. She had thanked him like a child receiving a gift. Well, she was pretty much that actually. Because it had been a final gift from the Dragonborn; it even had a little dragon etched in to the leather in the center of the breastplate. The symbol of the Empire. The symbol of Talos. The symbol of the Dragonborn. Wiping the sweat of her brow, she removed the sword from the pool and hammered away once more. It was then that the gates to the city creaked open, loudly and obnoxiously. It was nearly midnight! Nobody but her was out this late, much less traveling from city to city.

She curiously turns and the armor is the first thing she sees. He strolls in regally, and quite, _ahem_, handsomely, and speaks to a guard at his side. The guard nods. "…of course my Thane," She hears. Huh. He's sure moving up in this world. As if being the Dragonborn wasn't title enough. She chuckles lightly. Oops. He hears her and whirls around to face her. She can feel her face redden. She smiles shyly in his presence and is suddenly interested in her leather boots, bought for her by him of course. _Why should he even care about a girl who can't make her own way?_ "I-I um…Uh…I'm sorry, I…" He puts a finger to his lips, removing his helmet and holding it beneath his arm. "You don't have to say anything. You look tired. C'mon, my house is just down here." She tries to object but he waves her off. Her hours at the forge _were_ quite long…

He unlocks the door and holds it open for her. She smiles as she is greeted by a warm, cozy living room. Off to the side is a small table, to the right a bookshelf stocked with literature of all kinds. In the center are two chairs beside the fire. Manning the cooking pot was a woman, Nord, with a pale complexion and kind features. She was dressed in steel armor, standard for a housecarl which she clearly was. "My Thane!" She leaves her spot and stalks towards them, grinning ear to ear. "Hey, Lydia. Sorry I was gone so long. I got distracted a bit. You know, bandits, dragons, draugr. Alduin." He hugs the woman, dumping his helmet on a table. They release their fierce grip on each other so he takes the oppurtunity and tosses his shield to the floor, propping his quiver against the wall. "And who's this?" His housecarl asks. "Ah," Darius smirks. "Meet Colette. I met her under some interesting circumstances. The Thalmor were dragging her to her bloody death due to her presumed worship of Talos, and you can guess what that got them." Shaking hands with Colette, Lydia brightens even more. Like any Nord, it seemed she hated the Dominion quite a bit.

Darius and Lydia sit in the two chairs by the fire with a glass of wine each. He motions to the master bedroom upstairs. "Go ahead to my bed, Colette. Me and Lydia have some catching up to do." When she hesitates, he reassures her, saying, "Don't worry. You won't have to sleep with me, if that's what makes you uncomfortable. It's rather normal for me to go days without sleep; it has something to do with my dragon blood." He chuckles lightly. "And Lydia, you're just a creep." He laughs at her outraged expression. "Seriously! I've never seen you sleep, not even when we go out adventuring! You take first watch then you don't ever wake me up for mine! Sometimes I wonder about you, woman. I swear, if—" Colette doesn't hear the rest. She's already climbed the stairs and is closing the door to the bedroom. Her eyelids are heavy. She hadn't had much sleep in the Bannered Mare; the beds were hard and it was always only a few hours until her next shift on the forge. The Dragonborn's bed was calling for her. Damn, that sounded wrong.

She smiles inwardly at her little jest. She could hear laughing and glasses clinking downstairs. She was glad to see the Dragonborn so relaxed. The savior of the world needed some time for fun too, right? With that she fell asleep, wondering what the days to come would bring.


	8. Whiterun

**Chapter 8; sorry for not updating for three whole days—homework bound me to my textbooks. Anyway, I'll get this up today and likely a chapter tomorrow, but no promises about the latter. I have a lot of math due Tuesday. Filler chapter. MAJOR filler chapter.**

**Darius' POV**

Whiterun in the morning was quite relaxing. The air was crisp and clean, with a slight breeze; one could find that a stroll through the slowly waking city can calm the nerves quite well. He sure needed that. What was he going to do with that girl? He couldn't very well dump her at Adrianne's again. That Breton hadn't done a days' work in her life prior to her brief stint at the forge. Long hours like that would run the poor thing in to the ground. He made a mental note to give Avenicci a talking-to about appropriate working hours. It would be an hour or so until he could see the Jarl, so he settled for sitting on the edge of the well in the marketplace. The sunrise was something he could appreciate; it was something natural that wouldn't try to kill him, unlike pretty much everything outside of civilization. Eventually the people exited their homes and proceeded to begin milling about the streets, or shopping at the market stalls.

"Morning, Darius. How's your dragon-killing hobby workin' out for you? Eat some nice souls lately?" Greets Carlotta as she sets up her stall. She was one of the few that had known he was the dragonborn since the beginning, a number very few. He typically let people figure it out for themselves. "Actually, I was planning on dumping these bones and scales. Here. Sell them to old Gray-Mane. He always pays well," He says as he dumps a heap of random pieces of dragon on the table of her grocery stand. She stares in awe at the pile on her counter. "This will be worth enough septims for me to afford to close my stall! I can't thank you enough! I-" He holds up a hand. "No need." As he sets off up to the Wind District, he hears her exclaim, "Mila! We're rich! Hear that, honey?" Then comes the shrill voice of the young girl. "Yay, mommy! Let's get a big house, and, like, an undead skeleton butler, and I want a pet mudcrab, and be sure to thank Uncle Darius-" He smirks under his helmet at the nickname. Mila was practically a daughter to him. She'd even swung his sword once; it unfortunately involved an angry cow, two guards, and a poor drunken Brenuin. A disaster best spoken of later. Maybe he'd share that story with Colette the next time he saw her. As much as he would like to deny it, he didn't really want to part ways with the little Breton. He wasn't blind; he could tell she felt the same way about him. Deep in thought, he didn't notice that prick Nazeem and walked right into him.

"Ugh! Watch where you're going, filth! I have an extremely important meeting with the Jarl today, and I will not be slowed by the likes of you. Those damned Companions need to get their lazy butts up and help me get those wolves off my farm! Those good for nothing pigs, drinking mead all day. Bah! This is none of your concern anyway, peasant. An important man like me should not be conversing with the likes of you. Now, out of my way." The Redguard shoved past him rudely, strutting along like some kind of royalty, his fancy clothes whipping in the breeze. There goes Darius' efforts of keeping his dragon blood in check. The Dovah inside of him didn't want to let this slide. "_Fus Ro Dah..."_

And Nazeem was sent flying through the air, his limbs flailing, shrieking like a little girl seeing a spider, directly into the marketplace, landing in a heap at a guardsman's feet.

Whoops.

Whistling the tune of _"The Dragonborn Comes_," Darius was off again on his leisurely stroll up to the palace.


End file.
